A Eulogy

My Trusted Agent closed down his blog over a year ago because instead of catharsis, it fed a dark, destructive need. But sometimes he needs to get it off his chest. So I offered to ghost-publish his e-message in a bottle…

 

I drove by a familiar spot in my past. (It’s been awhile)
Just a random restaurant with a private parking lot.
What made this place special
that I would meet “Marti” there from time to time.
We were like two teenagers in heat. Kissing, grabbing at each other and when possible,
fucking like crazed rabbits.
I met Marti while on a business trip a 1,000 miles from home. I was still recovering from a recent death  of a close family member.
We were both in a dry spell in our marriages.  We filled a basic need for each other.
No promises, drama, plans or chains.
We made sure each one finished, at least once.
When it rained was the best.
The droning on the windshield, and the extra layer of privacy made it even better.
We would meet at my office after hours, at each other’s house when everyone was away for several days.
We were a perfect “fit”.
Our rhythm was always spot-on.
Whispers and moans, encouraging each other to do this and that.
Complimenting on how something felt or how long it had been.
When she was on her knees, she was shaped like an elegant musical instrument.
Her hips and back were a thing of feminine artwork.
The line of her spine and dimples on her lower back were burned into my mind.
She tasted sweet.
She always loved it on top.
I mention this not out of cheap sensationalism, but in the fact she would hit her perfect spot and would come several times. She would roll her head back with her eyes closed and had a half smile on her face. Sometimes her face would contort and she would gasp from the tremors and convulsions in her body. She would always tighten up. Her wetness was always just right.
She knew exactly what felt good and how to get there. It was a goal and she was determined.
She was one of the few women with whom I could go twice around with without stopping.
It was like fucking the Sun at times.  The warmth and danger always present.
We drifted apart as life got in the way. We had our own lives to focus on.
A few years later we managed to catch up. (Years before that these calls/texts would lead to on-the-fly hookups)
She told me she had major heart issues and surgeries.
I wished her well and said goodbye.
Today as I drove by that parking lot, I looked her up online to see if she still worked at the same office (I just wanted to say Hi) and that’s when I found her obituary.
How do I grieve for someone I should have never knew or touched?
I’m empty.
These days I’m trying to be a good person…husband…
But this is such a sudden hole in my past. Like a page ripped out.
I feel ashamed at the same time.  A familiar guilt of not deserving certain people in
my selfish life.

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“Your mess is mine…” ~Vance Joy

I woke to a heavy heart. Dreamt of him. Not a good dream. I wish I didn’t remember my dreams so vividly because they play out in my head all day like a memory of something real.

I compare my moods to a game of shuffle board: I’m hung up on a feeling until something else–good or bad– comes along to knock that original feeling out of the way or push it deeper into my psyche.

I hate December.

My thoughts are racing so much these days!

I’m up!

I’m enjoying the sight of my Hooker Tree ( a hot pink tinsel Christmas Tree loaded down with sci-fi geekery) with a kitschy blue electric menorah burning beside it in the window.

Then I plunge: He goes home in a week and a half. I have one weekend left with him. And I panic. My stomach lurches and my heart feels like its trying to break my ribs.

Happy thoughts! I tell myself. I brew decaf coffee (with my anxiety, I can’t have caffeine anymore) and the smell soothes me. I light candles and open the back patio door to let the fresh chilly air purge the funk that I am releasing into my environment. I buy a few gifts online for my family.

Then I look at my phone. Nothing from him today. So attentive when we are together but when we are not…Last weekend as I got in my car, he leans in through the window to kiss me and says “Love you, drive safe.” I started because Im the one with the bleeding heart, always dropping the “L” bomb on him. He hasnt said it to me. But this was a slip of habit, I know. Like him hugging a family member (or his clinically insane wife) and the automatic, obligatory “love you, drive safe” comes out. He probably didnt even realize he let it slip out and if he did, he probably thought “Crap, hope she didnt catch that”. But what I wouldnt give for him to say those words on purpose.

I’m up! We’re drinking cheap wine, eating pizza and laughing. He’s such a lightweight! Two glasses of wine and he’s giggling like a girl. We’re in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but hang out and watch movies. And it’s wonderful! Until the crazy starts pouring in again on his phone.

He has more baggage than anyone I’ve ever met. I try to be strong, I want him to lean on me, but he hates that I internalize his problems. But that’s what happens when you care about someone. You want to help and when they hurt, you hurt.

Because of this, he makes no promises. He doesnt talk about a future of ‘we’. He focuses on the now. He has to: Custody battle first, then divorce, then the next career move then…what? It’s not that he doesnt consider the future, he doesnt consider the future with me as a factor, as a Major Player in his life. Or if he does, the doesnt tell me. He just doesnt want to let me down. Or get my hopes up.
I told him, “Remember when I said I had no expectations and would be content if we came out of this as friends? I lied. I cant be your friend. I still have no expectations but I DO have hope.”

And I’m down. He’s not even gone yet but if this is a precursor–a taste– of the despair that is to follow when he leaves soon…G-d help me.

We both need something good to happen in our lives. Just give us ONE solid “win” on the board.

“I am getting older. And it’s starting to show” The Broods

“I don’t want to wake up lonely
I don’t want to “just be fine”

A line in this song made me think of my father. My dad passed away in 2004. Just before Christmas. Suddenly. Three days after his 45th birthday. Ten years and I think I miss him more than ever. That was the mark of a real blow to my faith. Because I BELIEVED my father would be fine! Faith that should have moved a mountain, according to what I had been told.

My father reminded me of what I deserved. Better than what the men I had been settling for were willing to give. I try to keep his advice in mind but…

There is a new guy at work. Special Forces type of course bearing the mark of the recently retired: mandatory facial hair and a haircut that was now brushing the ears. He made himself known immediately. Alpha-male type who is looking for an in, like ‘him’ when we first met. I feel his eyes on me in meetings. And when we do talk in passing, there is an intensity—a predatory challenge in his gaze. It’s blatant to me. Does he sense the passivity and vulnerability in me? He doesn’t wear a ring but neither did ‘he’. It means nothing. With or without the ring, it means nothing. He remarked that he liked my ‘rockabilly look’ which I found odd because it has been months since I wore crinoline and victory rolls to work (too tired to bother in the morning these days). So I dress conservative out of laziness but he picked it up somehow. I laughed and told him he had a ‘look’ too. Pale blue collared dress shirt the same shade as his eyes, pushed up the forearms to reveal full sleeve tattoos. You can take us out of the uniform and dress us up but we’re not fooling anyone. He was exiting his truck when I rolled into the parking lot with the new Gerard Way album playing so loudly that his teeth were probably rattling like mine. He waited to open the door for me and in the span of a short conversation said (not asked. Said.) “We should go to lunch sometime”. I said “Not unless youre talking a sandwich from the base gas station. I only get 20 minutes for lunch.”

“We’ll figure something out” was his confident, off-hand reply. I almost want to tell ‘him’ about it. I tell ‘him’ about my other dates sometimes like “See? I’m not waiting for you” (WIN!) and then in the same email, admit that none of them stand a chance because he’s all I can think about is him (FAIL!). The SF community is so small, they probably know each other. So no, I wont mention names. Although I would love to say “You have some competition”. Except that he knows it’s a lie. I pray for the day that it’s the truth.

Because my dad told me I deserve better.

“Whiskey and wine, night after night, you haunt me” ~Sir Sly

(Rated R- for sexual content and adult language)

I awoke with the taste of him between my teeth. My lips resting against the bare skin of his back. Breathing him in, his warmth. Was it really only three months ago? I ache for him more than I ever thought possible. I beg for strength, for release, for G-d to bring us back together: If it could be then let it be! I beg and pray and they are one and the same.

He communicates in spurts. I was a normal functioning human being last week because I heard from him daily. Several times a day. So often that it was almost like having a real conversation. He said he was helping his son with a report on ISIS. I said “I refer to that organization as the Prom Queen: So popular this year and everyone wants a piece of their ass.” He told his son, who thought it was the funniest thing ever. I said “I’ll give him $10 to put it in his report”. He came back “Make it $20 and he will say it in front of the class”.

Later when his son went to bed, we continued to ‘chat’ while he drank whiskey out of a coffee mug. He admittedly had been drinking every night since he got back home from overseas. Still, we don’t talk about her although I hint and jab. When he told me his son broke up with a “moody, manipulative bitch” of a girlfriend and got himself a sweet, cute, normal girl, I said “You could take a lesson from your son.” No comment. Our ‘conversation’ turned erotic. I was never much for ‘sexting’ or cyber sex until him. I fantasize about him constantly and like to give him the details. It’s no exaggeration when I say I can go from zero to orgasm in less than a minute thinking of him. I tell him to think of me on my knees, his hands in my hair while I worship him with my mouth. I tell him to think of how wet and hot I am as he’s deep inside me and I ride him hard. Later as he’s cleaning himself up, I think: How sad is this? That this man is masturbating to me alone in his living room while his wife is..where? Sleeping upstairs? Where the hell is she? Does he get rid of her somehow while he’s got the kids around? I said “Things must be okay between you and the wife since the kids are staying with you at the house this weekend rather than a hotel.” No comment.

Later, I get him worked up again and when he explodes, I tell him “Good boy…” He laughs “Now should I get my ass to the kitchen and do the dishes?” I said “No, baby, your job is to fuck me from behind while I do the dishes”. I like to remind him that I am truly domestic and old fashioned, like a sex crazed June Cleaver meets a Kat Von D-looking Rachel Ray. He jokes “Wait, so I don’t have to do all the cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, laundry…and I still get sex? What movie is this??” I replied quickly and firmly “It’s called ‘Fourth Times a Charm’”. I like to remind him of all the ways I am not like her or anyone else he has ever met before.

I am considered a ‘switch’ in certain circles but the truth is, no one has ever truly dominated me. Until him. He is an Alpha-male through and through and we compliment and satisfy each other perfectly, not only sexually but it creates a balanced relationship overall. We could be great together. We could be exactly what each other needs, not just wants. For the first time in my life, I have met my match. And he’s not available.
And I don’t know if he ever will be. I don’t know how he feels about me. I always tell him. But I don’t ask. I figure, when he’s ready…

But that was last Sunday. That’s what I get for feeling good for a moment. A few days goes by and I’m not only living out of a suitcase all week for work but I have a string of nightmares about him. I finally send a desperate message “Please just tell me you are okay”. He responded with “Im here, Im okay. I have just been extremely preoccupied these last few days. I’m so sorry. I’ll try to fill you in soon. In the meantime, get some sleep, no more nightmares!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another few days has gone by since then. The nightmares have ceased for the moment but my mood has plummeted. It’s Halloween night –my favorite holiday—and I’m alone in a hotel room, wondering what he’s doing, who he’s with. Is he dressed up with his wife at some costume party? What is he ‘preoccupied’ with to the extent that he cant ‘talk to text’ into his phone and tell me what is going on? Was his wife out of town and now she’s not and he doesn’t have the privacy he did last week? Shit, then go sit on the toilet in the bathroom and write me then!

I’m worried. I’m anxious. I’m jealous. I’m lonely. And depressed.

Months ago, I applied for a few jobs on a whim that I figured I didn’t hae a shot in hell at. Ive been musing for years about needing a ‘do over’, about having been in one place too long, worn out my welcome with my old friends…but I’m not making an effort to leave. I apply for jobs I know I wont get. Then I got a phone call. Then they flew me out to one of my favorite spots—Savannah—to interview. They flew me in, got me a nice rental car, put me up in a suite and encouraged me to hang out all weekend and get the feel of the place. I have another commitment this weekend that prevents me from doing that but I AM impressed at the treatment. Ive never had a company court me before. My experience over the years is I am like a mortgage, passed off from one company to the next and rolling with the punches to the gut of pay cuts and a parade of shitty bosses. This job would mean stability. It would mean a pay cut, at least initially, but it would also mean swift promotion potential. The cost of living here is comparable to where I already live too. So what’s the hold up? I’m scared.

There are other things I must also consider for my own mental health, like the dancing and dating scene. The dance scene doesn’t seem to have as much to offer as I first thought, considering this is a town that is the home of an enormous fine arts university. And I did a little surfing on the dating sites and while the pool of single men is significantly smaller here, I remind myself that being in a large pond hasn’t done shit for me in the last decade. It’s about ratio of men to women. It hasn’t been in my favor and it only gets tougher as I get older. So I sent a message to 3 or 4 Savannah-based fellahs, introducing myself, saying that I was in the area and contemplating a move here and wanted to know if they might be interested in meeting for a drink or at least giving me some ideas of where to go to experience it like a Native; ie: get me off touristy River Street. None replied. I know that is a small sampling and I probably shouldn’t read TOO much into it but I didn’t take it as a good sign.

My interview went well this morning and I’m absolutely certain that theyw ill offer me the job so afterwards, I spent the rest of the day and night, driving and walking around, trying to figure out if I could live here. Being 10 minutes away from a beautiful beach at home, I made it a point to drive out to Tybee Ilsand here. But a beach is not a beach. The shore was limited and unimpressive. The sand coarse and gray rather than soft and white. The water deep, tumultuous and threatening, unlike the peaceful lapping at my beach. Such are the differences between the Atlantic and the Gulf. Then I drove back into downtown Savannah but found that the charm and awe I always felt on previous trips to this beautiful old city were lost in my loneliness. If I moved here, I would be leaving my entire support system. My family and a handful of friends who I (hope I) can rely on to rescue me from myself if things get ‘that bad’. Then I found out about the travel this job would require. A few weeks each month traveling to Boston, Texas, England, Hong Kong…part of me still longs to travel but that is quite a LOT of travel. Doesn’t leave time to cultivate relationships. And then I wouldn’t have anyone to watch my pets while I was away. If this job were local to where I live now, I have family who can care for my beloved Zoo but if I took this job here, I couldn’t bring them with me. So then I would be TRULY alone: no friends, no family, and no cuddly adoring critters to remind me daily that I am loved and needed. Oh but you’ll make new friends, you say. Not necessarily. Savannah is full of tourists and college kids. My potential future co-workers were all married with children. Moving here, I would be alone, alone, alone…Not a single soul, unless you count the one haunting wherever I’d live.

“I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies” ~ Hozier

Do you ever look at Facebook and see posts from a bunch of your friends out having fun together on a Saturday night and wonder why you werent invited? I wanted to be out tonight. I tossed ideas around, put out feelers but no takers. So it’s 10:30 and I’m home alone. Still dressed to go out but once the boots come off, it’s all over. Feeling so damned sorry for myself, I should probably just go to bed. I was supposed to be in the smokey mountains this weekend with the kin but mother canceled at the last minute. She just didnt have it in her. This is a bad time of year for all of us. Her father died a year ago this past Monday and October was when her husband, my dad, began to get sick. Three days after his 45th birthday on 24 November, he had a seizure and slipped into a coma. A month later, just before Christmas, he was gone. This time of year also marks the end of every major relationship Ive ever been in Sept is the downward spiral and by December, I was either divorced or nursing my wounds from an ugly betrayal. Four. No, five times. I don’t like the holidays anymore. It means death of people I loved, physically or emotionally. And I’ve never been kissed at midnight on New Years Eve. Never.

He’s home and writing to me daily but we only talk about his kids. In ten days and he hasnt mentioned his wife or the fact that he will be within a few hours drive of me in the next week or two. I told myself that I wasnt going to bring either topic up again. I dont need to hear about how awkward the sex is or her latest meltdown. The only thing I know is that he is waking up next to her. And if he wants to see me, he will have to ask. I wont beg. And if he doesnt…well, then I guess there is my answer. The last time we were together, I was content and I meant it when I said that I had no expectations except that we stay in touch and remain friends. My expectations were low but my hopes were high. Are still high. He does nothing to feed my hopes except continue to write me and refuse to tell me to go away. I confided in a friend that I had drawn a line in the sand: If he doesnt ask to see me while he’s near, then I will cut him off. My friend says “Good for you, drawing that line in the sand”. The problem with lines in the sand is the water. Tears roll in like a tide that blur and erase those lines that I draw.

But hey, I’m still trying to get out there and meet someone else! Except that the only guys who show interest have handles like “BigMeat”, “FitYoungEuropean” and “Papi4U”. And if any of their photos include them flexing shirtless in the bathroom mirror or holding a fish then it gets deleted without reading. So that’s 99% of them. The Marine Biologist who also happened to be a traveling performer at Renn Fests sounded promising until I saw the glorious mullet.

It’s a new moon. I have everything I need for a banishing ritual but my head and heart are not in the right place for it. It’s a catch 22: rituals are supposed to be cathartic, relaxing. But you need to relax and focus in order to conduct the ritual. So what? I take a half a xanax in order to relax enough so that I can perform a ritual which should help me relax? That’s why I’ve never been able to pass a polygraph either. That hamster in my head never stops running on that wheel. “Just dont think about anything”, he says. I imagine that must be what peace feels like. To be able to flip a switch in your brain.

My mother and I need to be in the mountains right now. Healing in the crisp air and changing leaves.

That’s it. The boots are coming off…

“Even when the brave break down, it ends in other ways” ~ Roman Remains

You shared your stories and I shared mine. Sadly, so similar, us sisters. If we lived closer, we might form our own group where we meet, drink, cry, and hold hands while we base jump without chutes.

No, that’s not positive thought. If you want someone to remind you of what you are worth, to encourage you to walk away from those who don’t want to stay, read Trent Shelton. Or TD Jakes. “The Way of Serenity” by Father Jonathan Morris just arrived in the mail today; I’ll let you know once I’ve finished if it helped.

What he doesn’t say is louder than what he does. What he doesn’t say is “Wait for me”, “Come see me”, “I love you too”. Nor does he say “I don’t have time for you”, “I’ve decided not to leave my crazy wife”, “I changed my mind. Fuck off.” So I wait for him to come around but still go on dates. Lots of dates. Even decided to try out the old adage ‘The fastest way to get over someone is to get under someone else” but all that left me with was a hang-over and a yeast infection. Next day, I’m stalling at the drugstore, waiting for a female clerk or when there is none, I stock up on all sorts of shit I don’t need in attempt to hide the Monistat from the guy at the check out counter. Ever do that?

My mind invites the ghosts. He tried so hard in the beginning but he was always putting his foot in his mouth. Like the time he said “My wife is a 28 year old version of you” and I slowly turned to glare at him. Realizing his faux pas, he back-pedals “I mean, you’re what? 29…” I cut him off “You WISH your wife was like me.” At least that much is still true, I think.

If I’m repeating myself, excuse me. Skip ahead.

She got to play the loving, devoted wife, meeting him at the airport despite telling him that she visited two divorce attorneys last week. She will never leave him. She’s mentally ill but she’s not stupid. She manipulates: I’ll leave you. I’m miserable. Stay home and take care of me. If he follows through (and I’m convinced he wont. Not yet anyway. And not for me) and tells her he wants a divorce, she will don her Batshit Crazy Woman suit, threaten to kill herself (again) and guilt him into sticking around on the pretense of “saving her”.

“You accepted less because you thought ‘a little’ was better than nothing.” ~Trent Shelton

I saw a bird get clipped by a truck today and while I sped up, trying to reach it in time, another vehicle got there first and finished the job. I sobbed for an hour. Over a dead pigeon.

THere are reasons to be happy. For instance, they make Sour Patch gum now.

But whatever you do, don’t watch “The Duchess”. I like period flicks so I thought it was a safe bet on Netflix. Holy christonacracker, if I wasn’t suicidal before watching that movie, I was ready to eat a muzzle afterwards. Note to self: IMDB the spoilers of every movie before hitting ‘play’.

Okay, quick pick me up! Watch Taylor Swift crawl the through “Twerking Tunnel” on her latest video. Or youtube videos of Garfunkel and Oates. Watch two of the sweetest sopranos crawl out of a giant inflatable vagina or sing along to the chorus of “The Loophole”. Feel better?

Other positives: I’m finally down to my “Army doesn’t have to tape me” weight thanks to the misery of tuck and hold, lift and freeze, tiny up, tuck hold… IHateItIHateItIHateItIHateIt but it’s effective. I’m not ScarJo Black Widow yet but I think I’m finally ready to face my Army Reserve Career Counselor now. Even with the purple hair.

It’s a full moon. He is home. I wonder if he will look up and think of me. I wonder if we will still be on speaking terms a month from now.

Time to blend, anoint, burn and pray.

The Wrong One

I can’t even begin to go into it. There are facts hidden among rumors and accusations. Now there is even a formal investigation. Only G-d knows the full truth and may He deliver justice (and exoneration) accordingly. The worst part is, my testimony is being called on and while we have been directed not to discuss it any further, my desk at work is Grandfucking Central Station. And his name comes up. Someone claims they saw him sneaking out of her room at dawn. He says it’s a lie meant to hurt him. But it’s really not about him. It’s about her. Rampant unprofessionalism, undermining the mission and making repeated ‘jokes’ about shooting people she worked with. Ive never met a more miserable human being. She might benefit from counseling and medication.

I don’t know who or what to believe so I take my mother’s advice again: Sometimes you just have to make a choice. And again it comes back to this; does it matter what the truth is? Would it change the end of the story? Is there anything I can do to change it?

Even if he’s innocent, he’s angry. He’s being a dick. I finally snapped “Youre not the only victim here. This is making me physically ILL. So point that fucking finger somewhere else, open your g-ddamned eyes and SEE who is truly responsible for this. I am the one person who gives a shit about what happens to you.”

There is one truth I do know: I cant suddenly stop loving someone just because they stopped loving me.

But I’m trying. I go out. Nice men who buy me drinks and open doors. And I think of all the ways they are not him. When I look at photos of men online, I ask myself “Can you see yourself on your knees in front of him?”

I read some inspirational wisdom on Pinterest yesterday: Everything happens for a reason. Sometimes the reason is that you are stupid and make bad decisions.

Thanks.

“I will not always love what I can never have. I will not always live in regret.” ~Jimmy Eat World

My fever broke today. It only took 7 weeks.

A half a tab of Xanax and a glass of water by my bed, just waiting for the alarm to go off and my anxious heart to start thudding.

But today, I got out of bed without it.

And I made it to work without it.

And I made it through work without it.

Day 1.

For all my prayer and meditation and hinting and begging and writing and crying… all I got in return was Silence.

So I wrote to you, perhaps the last handwritten letter.

You never gave any indication that you read any of them and it hurts me to think that you might have let them stack up, like an obligation or a homework assignment that you kept putting off.

I hoped to never regret you. I had hoped I meant as much to you as you did to me.

And I told you I love you. I didnt say it to make a play for you. It doesn’t matter that you’re married and live 1,000 miles away. It doesn’t matter if you’ve changed your mind, or forgotten what you loved about me, or that I was just a crutch to lean on, a means to an end, to be used and be discarded as soon as I was out of sight. It doesnt matter that/if you found a new crutch as soon as I was gone. I fell in love and I’m not ashamed of that. I don’t think it is ever a bad thing to love someone or to tell that person that they are loved.

I also re-joined online dating sites; I didnt tell you that in some sad attempt to make you jealous. I told you that to alleviate any concerns you may have that I could potentially turn into a ‘stalker’ and cause problems for you. Even I have a little more pride than to chase a man who doesn’t want me. I know even if you do slay your dragons, you have no intention of ever coming for me. So I’m just trying to press on, pray for you, pray for me, pray that we both find what we need, not just what we want.

I want you. I expect I always will. Because you were a lightning strike and that hasn’t happened to me in many years. But I won’t wait for the Never.

I hope that I still cross your mind sometimes and you think to drop me an email to let me know you’re alive and well. You said you would. But that was weeks—an eternity ago, when you promised that.

I’ll never look at a full moon the same.

I love you.